


Over and Over Again

by Sterling_Starlight



Category: A Heist With Markiplier, A Heist With Markiplier (Web Series), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Feel free to substitute with whatever you want, Morgan is a placeholder name for the viewer because Y/N bugs me, Mute non-binary character, My claim to fame was that this was the first fic on Tumblr that has Captain Magnum, Other, Wibbly-wobbley timey-whimey stuff, Wilford doesn’t know what the fourth wall is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 05:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21422665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sterling_Starlight/pseuds/Sterling_Starlight
Summary: Every action creates a positive and negative reaction. Every decision creates a branching timeline, extending on into infinity. That’s the theory, in any case.(crossed over from my tumblr blog!)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Over and Over Again

Morgan was awoken by someone repeatedly slapping their cheek. They blinked the sleep away and rubbed at their eyes. They didn’t remember when they had fallen asleep, but this chair was surprisingly comfy.

“Don’cha know it’s rude ta fall asleep when someone invites you for an interview?”

The jovial, slurring tone shocked Morgan the rest of the way awake. Sitting in the chair next to him was a familiar face. Dark pink hair, bubblegum-pink moustache, pressed yellow shirt, rainbow suspenders and… no pants. Why was he not wearing any pants? “I’m only filed from the waist up,” Wilford explained cheerfully. Besides, who needs pants when your calves are this beautiful?” He lifted one of his legs onto the arms of his chair and wiggled his toes. “They’re so smooth; feel ‘em.”

Morgan looked down at the leg (he was wearing sock suspenders but not pants?), then up to Wilford. The reporter had an open-mouth grin and was wiggling his eyebrows enticingly. Morgan reached out to touch the skin of his leg, but the back of their hand was slapped sharply. “Ya took too long. Th’ moment’s gone now.” Wilford said grimly. He withdrew his leg, using his big toe to wave goodbye.

Loud, jovial music blared over an unseen loudspeaker before Morgan could even begin to question anything. Wilford adjusted his bowtie, gave his moustache a good wiggle, and looked sideways at Morgan. “Time ta get started. Smile for the camera and give a good show, would ya? People on the internet are readin’ this.” Wilford winked towards the reader and gave them a set of finger guns, click included. 

The curtains of the stage were drawn open with uproarious fanfare, and Morgan was blinded by the light.

———-

“Come ‘ere. Come ‘ere, come ‘ere. Lemme see. That’s…” Morgan could feel Yancy prodding at their face. When his fingers brushed their nose, they hissed in pain. Yancy sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Oooh, yeah. That’s broke real good. Well, don’t ya worry; I’ve done this a million times. Jus’… brace youse’s self, aight? On three. One… two…” The popping sounds were nothing compared to the sharp pain that blossomed from Morgan’s nose as Yancy snapped it back into place. Reflectively, they tried to scoot away from him. “ ‘ey, ey. Wigglin’ will jus’ make it worse.” Yancy put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder to keep them still. A few more well practiced pushes and squeezes, and Yancy finally pulled his hand away. “ ‘s not gonna heal perfect, but what can youse do?” 

Morgan nodded glumly, re-adjusted the bag of frozen peas over their face. Their decision to remain in prison did come with perks, they would admit. But even despite Tiny’s bi-weekly book club, or Happy Trails Tap and Musicals for Society’s Rejects, at the end of the day a prison was still a prison. Not everyone could be won over by masterfully choreographed song and dance numbers. Something that the newest inmate wasted no time in expressing. For such a little guy he had a wicked right hook, as Morgan’s face had learned the hard way. To hear the rest of the family tell the story, Yancy had gone absolutely ape-shit and beaten the daylights out of the new guy. He had gotten solitary, but it was a slap on the wrist compared to the other guy.

“Look on the bright side, ah? You had your first prison brawl! Youse is really one’a us now. We jus’ gotta get Sparkles McGhee to get you some badass tats, and it’ll be like youse have been ‘ere for years.” 

Blearily, Morgan held their wrist out to Yancy, where the small tattoo of an adorable cartoon box was printed onto their skin. Identical to the one Yancy had on the column of his neck. Yancy clicked his tongue. “C’mon, Mores, we can do better than that. Trust me, Sparkles is a magician with that needle a’his. Even if you will be sore for weeks after.”

Morgan smiled, despite the pain in their cheeks. They managed to mouth a thank you, despite their swollen lips. Yancy looked down and rubbed the back of his neck.

“’Ey, don’t even mention it. Youse a part’a the gang now, and I takes care of my boys… and goils… and people who don’t conform to genders.” 

Morgan gave another smile and slid off the table Yancy had propped them up on, they swayed uneasily in space, but he was there to keep them steady. “Watch it. Blows to the head are never fun.” Upon noticing just how closely they two were to each other, Yancy put an arm’s distance between them, smoothing back his hair then rubbing his neck. “Youse gonna be okay gettin’ back to youse’s cell?”

Morgan gave them a thumbs up before carefully making their way back to their cell. The cook would just have to deal with the fact there was a bag of peas missing.

———-

Life on the sea had been everything those pirate books said they would be: Pillaging, raiding, avoiding the Coast Guard, mooning the Coast Guard, singing sea shanties, and rallying the entire crew against a single seagull. In their defense, that seagull was probably possessed by one, if not several, demons judging from the way it went for the eyes. Oh, and it had also twisted its head all the way around and its caw sounded like a monster from hell so, yeah, probably several demons. Poor Timmy still had nightmares.

And yet, despite the adventures and the treasure and the spiffy new outfit, Morgan found themself distracted by thoughts of home. Since they were a wanted criminal in several countries, they couldn’t exactly go home for Thanksgiving dinner. They couldn’t even go back to tell Chica her father had died because a pirate captain threw an anchor on him. The little Beepus was probably beside herself with worry. Maybe Morgan could convince the crew to get her? And of course there was the man, and myth, the idiot himself; Mark Iplier. Sure he was loud, and impulsive, and had gotten them into a life of piracy to begin with, but he had still been a good friend. His idea of what a good date was sucked, and he had once dragged Morgan across state lines to get Cracker Barrel, but there was heart there.

The sound of Captain Magnum’s tree-stump feet rumbling across deck could probably be heard for miles. Morgan straightened up respectfully upon hearing his approach. Even if they were his First Mate/honorary adopted child, a captain was still a captain.

“There ye be, ah- don’t you be getting’ all formal with me. Yer me First Mate!” Captain Magnum smiled jovially as he finally made it up the last step after some struggle. He had to practically bend himself in half to get his mouth even remotely close to Morgan’s ear. He cupped a hand around his mouth “Ye didn’t hear this from me, but yer me favorite.” He straightened himself out and tugged on his overcoat, trying to look nonchalant. “I couldn’t help but hear that ye’ve been a bit… melancholic. What’s ailin’ ya?”

Morgan worried on their lower lip. They could say that it was the seasickness getting to them, but Captain Magnum would probably see right through them. Slowly they pulled out their journal and quill, licked the tip, and wrote their response. Captain Magnum pulled out of half-moon reading glasses as he read what Morgan had showed him, mouthing the words under his breath. “Ah, I get’cha.” He said, tucking his glasses away. He wrapped an arm around Morgan’s shoulder, or as best as he could with the impressive height difference. “Every one of these salty barnacles has felt a touch homesick. Even yer proud, fearless Captain. And yes, even I know the pain of losing a friend to a tragic anchor accident.” Captain Magnum looked out to the sea, eyes misting over as he lost himself to the memory. He shook his head and pulled a spot of rum out from his belt. “A toast, to the homes we left behind and the people we’ve lost.” He pulled the stopper out with his teeth and spat it somewhere above Morgan’s head carelessly.

(“My eye! The seagull is back! Lord help us all!” Timmy wailed.)

Captain Magnum took a hearty swig, draining nearly half the bottle, before relinquishing it to Morgan. Feeling like it would be bad karma if they didn’t finish what was left; they drained the rest of the rum in two large swigs. The Captain smiled and patted their back, the force nearly knocking them over, but it was the thought that counted. “Now then,” Captain Magnum took the bottle back and tucked it into his belt (they would never throw glass in the ocean; they were pirates, not animals). “Back to work with ye! This ship ain’t gonna run itself, lads!”

Startled by Captain Magnum’s abrupt shift from paternal to stern, Morgan slapped their forehead in a sloppy salute and dashed off back to work.

—————————-

The darkness was cold and oppressive. It pressed against Morgan on all sides like it was trying to compact them down into tiny little particles. The oppressive atmosphere wasn’t helped by the Entity they found themselves face to face with. His clean, pristine white suit stood out against the darkness like a beacon, but it was anything but hopeful. If anything, it made the particles of angry red and shocking blue all the more prevalent. Despite the Entity’s calm façade, Morgan could see reality (if this could indeed be called as such) bleed reds and blues and grays at the corners of their vision.

“**_You look like you have something to say,”_** The Entity said, his tone almost intrigued. Reality shifted, and he was sitting at a polished desk in an overstuffed chair. He leaned back and steepled his fingers, black eyes seeming to pierce right though Morgan. They had to wonder if it was even really them they were speaking to. “**_Go on_**,” A red afterimage glitched into existence, glaring hotly. A blue one flickered into view, its gaze inquisitive. Both were gone the next time Morgan blinked.

They finally uncurled their fingers from around the strap of their heist bag, willed their hands to stop shaking, and signed:

“_We’ve been here before. Haven’t we?” _

If the Entity was surprised, he didn’t show it. He leaned forward, hands folded on the desk, and looked into Morgan’s eyes for what felt like the first time since this started. His eyes flashed crimson, then cobalt, then back to black. “**_Interesting. Tell me, what makes you say that?_**”

_“It was… faint at first. Flashes of… stuff”_ Morgan’s eyebrows pinched together as they struggled to collect their thoughts. Their head throbbed, and they could practically feel their memories crumbling to dust. Like someone far greater then themself was selectively picking which ones they wanted Morgan to keep. “But I do remember. You, the box, this heist; all of it.”

“**_So it is different this time…_**” The Entity mused, more to himself than to Morgan. He shook his head. **_“Well done. If I didn’t know that you’ll let the veil be pulled back over your eyes sooner or later, I’d congratulate you on not being completely hopeless.”_**

The Entity picked up the box that had materialized on his desk, looking over the intricate carvings. He scoffed, like it was irrelevant, and set it back down on the desk. It sounded more like the distant, ominous rumbling of thunder than it did wood meeting wood. Flakes of reality drifted from the box and onto the Entity’s suit, which he brushed away with a disgusted grimace. “_**None of it is worth it. Not what’s in this box, nor whatever game he’s playing; but I’m wasting my time. Come the next cycle, you’ll forget all this happened**_.” He glanced up at Morgan and slid the box across the desk to them. **_“Our time is up.” _**

** _——————————_ **

Morgan was awoken by someone repeatedly slapping their cheek. They blinked the sleep away and rubbed at their eyes. They didn’t remember when they had fallen asleep, but this chair was surprisingly comfy.


End file.
